


Distance

by skedgehunk



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Introspection, M/M, Mark Lee (NCT)-centric, Slightly Ambiguous/Open Ending, everyone misses haechan, fake deep, johnten if you squint, mark is trying to work through his feelings, mark just works so hard and wants to be good enough for everyone, mark misses haechan, word vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-19 11:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22110004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skedgehunk/pseuds/skedgehunk
Summary: It’s after Mark whispers ‘sweet dreams’ into the receiver, hangs up and runs a thumb over Donghyuck’s grinning contact photo on the dim screen of his dying phone that he realizes he might just be a little in love with the boy who embodies the sun.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 5
Kudos: 183





	Distance

**Author's Note:**

> can't believe my return to writing after literal years is a horribly edited draft I accidentally found of an ancient fic from when Hyuck hurt his leg. 
> 
> pls don't expect much it's literally just Mark being angsty and lost and pining for Hyuck like A Fool
> 
> happy new year y'all

In the Kpop industry where rapid change is a expected and every moment can be made or broken with the slip of a scowl or a crack in the practiced mask of feigned ignorant bliss around ‘fans,’ routine is something Mark craves; one of the only things that keeps him grounded through all day rehearsals and video shoots, where the backseat of van number 2 has become a more frequent area of respite than his own bed back at the dorms. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s laid there for longer than 5 hours, let alone managed to sleep for longer than 3 of them.

Yet for someone so attuned to the little constants, it somehow takes Donghyuck injuring his leg and being out of 127 promotions for 3 months for him to realize just how much the golden boy has become a part of his daily life. 

* * *

Mark knows Donghyuck has smaller feet than him, so it unsettles him even more when he realizes just how large the shoes they have to fill have become. 

When the air becomes wet, sticking to the mirrors as Icy Hot joins the whirlwind of Salonpas and dwindling deodorant through the extra hours it takes them to reposition and fill the very apparent gap. When Doyoung’s eyes get misty at the studio because they’re redistributing lines and Yuta has to say it’s fine he isn’t getting any through a strained voice he covers up with a tight-lipped smile. When the mood only gets more sour as they pile into their vans and there’s no snarky comment or high pitched whine to fill the silence, so Mark only continues taste the bitterness on the back of his tongue. 

It lumps in his throat, keeps him from swallowing properly but he’s already downed his water bottle and he doesn’t want ask Jaehyun for his because the last thing they need is to pull over for a restroom break. 

Doyoung would just nag him about not going before they got in the van anyway and Mark doesn’t think he can handle that right now. He’s already suffocated enough inside the van, even with empty seat right next to him, _especially_ with the empty seat right next to him, and he doesn’t want to prolong this ride any further.

Johnny occasionally mumbles out a joke to keep the mood light, trying to unfurrow Taeyong’s brows or ease the tension in Jungwoo’s shoulders. The elder’s eyes dart around to gauge reactions for some type of acknowledgement and Mark _knows_ he’s trying his best, tries to crack a smile or offer a chuckle, but it fades as quick as it comes, the deafening silence only going to show _it’s not working._

Perhaps it’s because Johnny doesn’t inherently pout around his words, no warm, comforting lilt sprinkling whimsy over the ends of his sentences. Or maybe it’s the lack of sunlight radiating from the crinkles of his mouth as he smiles, the absence of galaxies swirling deep above dark circles trying their best to blink away sleep in favor of maintaining eye contact just _that_ much longer. 

When Johnny speaks Mark’s eyes don’t instinctively move to him, sometimes he doesn’t even bother opening them. His aching limbs don’t subconsciously scoot to the edge of the leather seat, as if the mere physicality of it all will help him hang onto every word slipping past his lips.

Mark doesn’t blame him, can’t blame him, because he still doesn’t know how their youngest manages to capture the rays of the sun in his smile, summer breezes emanating from every breathy laughs and drawing Mark in so seamless, so fast, he hadn’t even realized how close he’d gotten until he was already melting. Layers of his skin and muscle, all the tissue slipping away, so quick, so _easy,_ until Mark was naked, completely vulnerable, his racing heart bare and raw, thumping on a silver platter for the boy made of gold. He’s never truly acknowledged it until now, still isn’t sure if he _wants_ to acknowledge it, but he can’t help himself. 

He’s always been more mature with 127, hadn’t realized how empty, how lonely, it would feel without Donghyuck next to him doing the same. How mentally and emotionally tolling it would be to keep up with the older members without having Donghyuck around to whisper crudely and chide others with when he tired of the calm and the maturity turned forced. 

How did he always lighten the mood? Always know exactly what to say, brushing it off as quick-wit and leaving it at that when in fact it had always been so much more. But Donghyuck would never admit that, too humble for his own good, too insecure to feel deserving of what he considered one of his only skills. 

Mark could only attempt to bridge the gap, try and try and _try_ to be the perfect substitute, acting cute for others, having the elders dote on him when they needed to take their mind off of themselves or each other. But Mark is not nearly as perfect, never as prepared, always more soft-spoken and still shy with physical affection. 

Maybe that’s why during those three months he finds himself coming up with any possible excuse to be with Dream, going so far as moving back into their dorm a few floors down the same building. They don’t seem to mind his presence, they even seem grateful he’s there sometimes. 

Like the nights he’ll find Renjun sitting at the kitchen table, numbering the hollows of chipping paint decorating the bare wall, a half-empty plastic cup of dry, off-brand Frosted Flakes in front of him and his cracked iPhone replaying his parents’ voicemails just above the lowest volume because he needs to hear their voices but doesn’t need to sob into his cereal right now. Even if they _are_ out of milk.

Mark’s not as good at comforting Renjun as Jaemin, can’t ease the longing with his mother-tongue like Chenle, but he’s there to listen. To sit in silence and stare at the off-white slab of concrete together as their fingers fiddle with the edges of the stained tablecloth because neither of them knows what to ask or how to ask it, but somehow that’s okay. 

Perhaps they’re better off not hearing the answers. 

Maybe just having someone there, _knowing_ someone’s there to share the pain, to ease the burden — even if it’s not the same one — is all they need. 

Except some nights Mark knows it’s not. Nights when Dream is busy with late rehearsals for their upcoming promotions. When Mark contemplates whether sleeping to the 127 dorm is worth it because he wants to be alone but doesn’t want to be lonely. 

He wonders if this is how Johnny feels. Knowing Ten is alive and well, but unable to see him, to hold him or even just _talk_ to him whenever he wants.

But then he knows it isn’t the same. Chastises himself for even thinking that because of _course_ Johnny has it worse, not that he would ever admit it.

Donghyuck is only one phone call away from Mark. 

Mark knows he’s recovering but he also knows the younger won’t be asleep even though it’s midnight. He’s _supposed to_ be resting but Donghyuck’s supposed to do a lot of things yet he somehow manages to subvert all those expectations as well.

* * *

With Donghyuck not being in the dorms, it becomes a lot quieter. Mark has the peace and quiet he’s whined about before, not having to deal with the younger acting cute or his overabundant skinship to get what he wants behind closed doors. No freezing cold toes pressing up against his shins or half-asleep battles over the thin bed sheet when Donghyuck sneaks into his bed in the middle of the night. No scrutinizing glances and temper tantrums to coerce Mark into explaining why everything is not, in fact, ‘just fine.’

When he finally decides to go back to the 127 dorm Mark sees the toll it takes on the older members; how the atmosphere gets tense more quick, how the energy seems to deplete a little faster. 

He sees the dark circles forming under Taeil’s eyes quicker. Notices the veins at Doyoung’s temples protruding and never quite going away at the end of the day. Hears the tear of an adhesive pain relief patch echo through his room door in the dead of night because Yuta only applies them when he thinks others aren’t watching. 

He feels his fingers tingle seeing the raw nubs of Taeyong’s fingernails, stomach churning as the leader point the red to coordinate schedules with one of their managers. Shivers when he sets foot in the tub after Jungwoo because their physical therapist says ice baths ease muscle and joint pains. 

He pretends he doesn’t notice Johnny heading straight for his room as soon they reach the dorms, sometimes not even bothering to wash up before the lock clicks. Fixes a blanket over Jaehyun’s unconscious form folded to squeeze onto their living room couch instead of his own, empty room before Mark walks off to make himself a meal some ungodly time between dinner and breakfast.

* * *

Mark realizes everything is truly not ‘just fine’ once he starts overthinking. He sees the tension in everyone’s posture, the rigid lines and fixed frowns on their faces as their choreography leader continues to drill the same set again and again and _again._

Mark doesn’t blame any of the members for getting it wrong, why should he? It’s a difficult dance. He hasn’t been singled out so as he’s standing next to Jungwoo, who’s looking like he’s waiting for the ground to give way and swallow him up albeit not being the one that messed up, he tries to lighten the mood. 

It starts off with an innocent joke, a mumble under his breath that has Jungwoo glancing over before cracking a smile. Mark sees the physical reaction, watches his hands unclench and his knees unlock, so he tries again. 

This one has Jungwoo snickering, quickly covering it up with a cough, reaching a hand up to cover his smile as the choreographer looks over at him.

That should’ve been enough. He should’ve considered it a success. He doesn’t know why he keeps going, why he decides that he needs to hear Jungwoo’s laugh to feel validated. Why he had tricked himself into believing their choreography leader would treat him the same way he treated Donghyuck. With a slap on the wrist and a warning to knock it off after staring at the younger’s kicked puppy eyes and pouting lips.

But he’s not Donghyuck, couldn’t come close to filling that gap. And their choreography leader feels the same, no doubt. He snaps. And it’s worse, because it’s not directed at Mark, but at Jungwoo.

Jungwoo who had done nothing but try his best since he’d joined them, who was already insecure about his place in the group, not someone that needed to be distracted and by far the _last_ person who deserved to be treated like this.

It had been Mark’s fault in the first place yet he did nothing but stand still as a rock as the boy on his right curled in on himself, fists clenched and knees locked. 

It’s harsh, cruel, the way their choreographer picks him apart. Mark know he’s more strict after the injury, knows through the silence that everyone else can tell too. So when he’s done, yelling for a 10 minute break before they move on to the next set, and Jungwoo turns to him and smiles, trying to brush it off and tell him ‘it’s no big deal,’ the tears in his eyes only make Mark feel more guilty.

He feels his chest clench and pushes the heel of his palm against it, rubbing at the surface like it’ll ease some of the pain. There’s no one to clap his shoulder to tell him not to overreact, no perfectly timed comic relief brightening the dread, no one to interlock their fingers and thumb over the back of his hand in silent reassurance. 

Yuta’s busy trying to cheer Taeil and Doyoung up after their stamina starts to dwindle, Johnny and Jaehyun are practicing the last set in the corner on his own and Taeyong’s been whisked away for a meeting. 

Mark stays silent the whole ride home, feeling like everyone’s acknowledging and reprimanding him for his mistake as they all silently file into the car. He knows that isn’t true, knows everyone is worn out from rehearsal and worrying about their own doubts and insecurities, yet tears still prick the corners of his eyes as he watches Jungwoo flop his head onto Doyoung’s shoulder through the van’s side mirror and sigh. 

* * *

Mark is the first one out of the vehicle, having rushed to the passenger seat earlier, and he wordlessly runs to the bathroom. He turns on the water before anyone can come knocking and protest, letting himself be self-indulgent. He strips while waiting for the water to warm up, trying to stop his hands from shaking as the cold air hits him.

They’re still shaking as he steps into the warm, _hot_ , water, and he reaches up to push his wet hair out of his face before realizing — _oh,_ it’s dry. _Then why —_ he wipes a palm along his already wet face, throwing his head back with a bitter laugh as his vision blurs, looking down at his trembling hands and just letting himself cry.

It isn’t soft, there’s nothing pretty about it.

It’s quite ugly, tragic, hot and angry and his chest _burns_ but he’s still heaving, breaths coming out hard and fast, so fast he physically bends over, tremors wracking all the way down till his knees buckle, almost colliding with the floor — he’s crouching, a hand pressed against the tile of the shower wall so he doesn’t collapse, _trying_ to catch his breath but still biting down on a fist because he’ll be damned if he lets any of the others hear him. 

He forces himself to use the bar of soap, not waiting for it to lather, dragging it across his skin and scrubbing till his surface is red and raw, peeling around the wrists. He almost wishes he’d done it on drier skin, with a drier bar, he probably deserved that much, to feel that pain, the same hurt he’d caused. Washing it off, he doesn’t bother shampooing, just lets the water hit his head and dampen his hair before he’s out of the tub and into his fresh set of clothes. 

Mark’s glad he doesn’t run into anyone on the short trip from the bathroom to his room, doesn’t know what he’d do, what he’d say, if they tried to talk to him, if he had to force himself to smile and hide the red lining his eyes.

Under the covers he lets more of the tears fall, with the dull light from outside filtering through the cracks of the blinds, he’s glad Doyoung’s out for tonight, glad he won’t hear his sniffling and rustling through the night. 

It’s with a surge of confidence — _panic —_ that he reaches for the phone tucked under his pillow. Blinking rapidly at the brightness and not letting his eyes fully adjust before unlocking it. 

He does it quickly, before he can talk himself out of it, his frantic fingers going through the motions and tapping Donghyuck’s contact on his phone with so much urgency he’s surprised the device doesn’t fall out of his grasp. 

He’s tried to refrain from this, tried to be firm and strong and _enough_ , because he knows the other’s recovering and doesn’t want to stress him out than he already probably is.

But then Donghyuck picks up. 

It’s a whispered ‘Hello?’ that comes through the speaker and it’s so soft, almost like he’s whispering — _of course he is, it’s past midnight_ — but Mark suddenly feels like he’s not _suffocating_ and instead of responding he forces out a breath, remembering he’s _still_ crying. 

Donghyuck must hear him, clumsily exhaling and trying to cover up his sobs because the next word out of his mouth is, “Idiot.” Mark chokes on a laugh at Donghyuck and his audacity, and the younger hums. “You should’ve called me earlier. What, did you think I’d be busy?”

He laughs again. Just the sound of the younger’s voice alone has been enough to get him to laugh twice, more than he’s laughed the past week without it being forced or dwindling in seconds. “I didn’t want you to worry.” He pauses, Donghyuck waits. “I thought I could handle it.” His own voice sounds foreign to him, too hoarse from the tears and soft enough it wavers every couple of words.

“You won’t burden me.” The words are stronger, like he’s not whispering anymore, more firm, like he truly believes what he’s saying and Mark almost sobs because he _believes_ him, and _God_ he didn’t even know how badly he’d been wanting to hear those words until they rumbled against his ear. 

They stay on the phone for a bit longer, a couple more hours maybe, Mark loses track as he tells Donghyuck about his day, about the others, about promotions, before Donghyuck’s soft laughter fades into quiet hums and grunts of approval. 

Mark feels like a weight has been lifted as Donghyuck’s voice filters through the speaker. He can swallow properly and he greedily inhales through his mouth and gulps down the relief of fresher air. He knows Donghyuck would probably laugh at him if he were here, pinch at his cheeks and call him a goldfish, smile and say it’s fitting considering Mark’s attention span and short-term memory. Earlier Mark would’ve shoved his hands away, willing the red away from his cheeks, but now he thinks he’d let it happen, accept the touches and warm gazes, if it meant seeing that smile directed at him for just a while longer. 

It’s as Mark whispers “Sweet dreams” into the receiver, hanging up and staring at Donghyuck’s contact photo on the dim screen of his phone that he realizes he might just be a little in love with the boy who embodies the sun.

* * *

When Donghyuck comes back to 127, no one is expecting it. True to his word, Mark had kept in contact with Donghyuck after the one night, but never once had the younger mentioned when he would be returning. Mark had a feeling it would be soon, the younger was always terrible at surprises. 

But when he waltzes into one of their practice, everyone is just that, utterly surprised. The room stills and Mark knows exactly when it finally registers that, _yes_ , that’s Donghyuck, and _yes,_ he’s _back_ because everyone, _everyone_ in the room, rushes to see him, as if he’ll disappear if they don’t. 

Mark walks forward with them, staying toward the back of the clump and patiently — _impatiently_ — waiting his turn. He’s bouncing his leg, arms swinging front and back and worrying hit bottom lip because he’s here, and suddenly people are moving and the loud cheers and laughs are dying down and the distance is lessening and _oh — he’s really here._

It feels like a fever dream when Mark walks forward, into Donghyuck’s space and just stares. Drinks up the boy in front of him from the way he swims in his too large jacket, all sweater paws and lean legs and then Mark looks up to the natural curls of his hair, connecting the constellation on his cheeks, trailing to his button nose then to his pouting lips before staring at those unwavering eyes, gaze steeled with that familiar fire, all the mirth and mischief and cheekiness, but then they soften just so, once they land on him and something bursts inside of Mark.

It _must’ve_ because Donghyuck looks like he’s ready to _melt_ at the sight of him but that _can’t_ be true, he _must_ be hallucinating because there’s no way _Lee Donghyuck_ is looking at _him, Mark Lee,_ like that. Yet there he is, continuing to stare, warm and unblinking, like Mark is the panacea of all things and he looks _so fond_ and the corners of his full lips quirk upwards and _God_ Mark wants to kiss him.

He doesn’t, not now, knows he can’t. Not here, not with everyone around them. 

So Mark walks forward before he says anything, and does what he can, wraps his arms around Donghyuck, one hand guiding the back of Donghyuck’s head into his chest, having him close so Mark can _finally_ relax. All the tension oozes off of him as he holds the younger boy close, holds him longer than he probably should, whispering an “I missed you” against his temple before ruffling his hair and reluctantly stepping back.

Donghyuck looks up at him with that scrutinizing gaze, calculating, _dangerous_ , and Mark knows he has something to say, probably more than one thing, but here is not the time nor place, so Mark blinks and the expression is gone. Replaced by that same fond smile, “I missed you too.”

* * *

The rest of practice passes without incident. Donghyuck returns to the dorms and the rest of 127 breezes through the choreography recharged, more energy and drive fueling the motions they’ve been memorizing the past couple of weeks. 

Mark doesn’t see Donghyuck as soon as he gets back, doesn’t see him for dinner either, is about to ask about him when Jaehyun lets him know he’s with the Dreamies. Mark understands, doesn’t complain or whine, no matter how much he wants to. 

It’s when they’ve all washed up and headed to bed that Donghyuck returns. He tiptoes into the dorm, and Mark can hear him shuffling about through his nightly routine. He stays awake and waits, hopes, _prays_ for just a bit more, just another glimpse of the boy he’s been wanting to see so he can believe this isn’t all a dream.

And then the door to his room cracks open, and Donghyuck’s lifting his blanket, slipping into Mark’s bed and pressing his freezing toes against his shins. Mark doesn’t move away. He scoots closer, letting Donghyuck steal most the cover in favor of wrapping his arms around the other boy. Mark _still_ wants to kiss him, but he doesn’t, not yet.

Maybe Donghyuck can sense it, because there’s still silence, neither of them saying a word as they continue to stare, until

“Hey.” It’s more of an exhale than a word, but it prompts a smile on Donghyuck’s face before he responds.

“Hi.” And Mark realizes he’s staring, realizes he doesn’t mind, realizes that maybe, just _maybe_ he’d like to stare at that smile forever.

And then the floodgates are open. They talk about everything. 

Donghyuck talks about how he misses his mom, his dad, his younger siblings. He admits a small part of him didn’t want to come back to the dorms, wished he hadn’t debuted so he could spend more time with his family. He pauses, asks if that’s selfish.

Mark doesn’t answer. Instead, he tells him how he’s been feeling — _tries_ to tell him. He doesn’t know what his feelings are, doesn’t know what to call them or if they have a name, if they deserve a name, but he knows that whatever happens in the future he wants Donghyuck to be right there with him. 

He talks about how much he cares, how much he relies on the younger for comfort, for warmth, for relief, for joy, no matter how fleeting. How much he welcomes the younger’s antics as a distraction from his too serious mind, how they work like two sides of the same coin, how much he wants to keep Donghyuck by his side for as long as he can. He asks if that’s selfish.

Donghyuck says he doesn’t know if that’s what it means to be selfish, doesn’t know if that’s still what it means to be best friends with someone or to love someone. If that’s what it means to be _in love_ with someone.

He does know that they’re soulmates though, tells Mark this as his breath fans over the older boy’s cheek. Whispers against his skin for him to take it how he will. 

Mark says he knows, another thing he’s sure of. Has known from the second or third year of growing with him.

He also knows he’s crossed the line of friendship at some point, doesn’t know exactly when or how. He doesn’t know if he can to define whatever they are, if he wants to. Doesn’t know if he wants to risk it all in fear of it not working out. 

But he knows he still wants. 

He wants Donghyuck so much it hurts. It burns the back of his throat, swirls from the pit of his stomach all the way up to his head and has his vision spinning. He craves for Donghyuck when he isn’t around, longs to reach out and hold any part of him when he is. Wants to see him smile, hear him laugh, watch him wake up beside him in the morning. He wants to drown in his voice, wants to feel that same fondness he felt earlier today, wants to _burst_. 

He doesn’t know if that’s what it means to be in love, doesn’t know if he’s ready to label it just yet.

Donghyuck tells him it’s okay. They’re here now, and whatever lines they decide to blur along the way is up to them. Even if they’re not quite ready to tell the others yet. 

And Mark believes him. Believes it’ll be okay because he trusts Donghyuck, more than he trusts anyone else, maybe more than he trusts himself. Definitely more than he trusts himself. 

Because Donghyuck doesn’t lie, would never lie about this, not to him. 

So he breathes a little easier, puffs of warm air rousing tufts of Donghyuck’s bangs, wondering if _this_ is love, realizing he'd be okay with it if it was. He brings the younger boy closer, fingers bunching the back of his oversized shirt to squeeze him tighter before relaxing against him, all loose-limbed and lighter hearted.

Maybe they can afford to be selfish just this once.


End file.
